


We will Find Our Place

by MasterGriffith



Category: Berserk (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-09-10
Packaged: 2019-07-10 15:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15952343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MasterGriffith/pseuds/MasterGriffith
Summary: Author here. This is my very first attempt at writing a Berserk fanfic. Very sorry it's short, I plan to write multiple chapters, which will evolve as I get better at this process. I definitely appreciate any constructive and kind criticism. Maybe my pacing is off, maybe I do more telling rather than showing, who knows? Anyway, I hope you like this. I'm a big fan of Golden Age Guts/Griffith relationship, with all its ambiguity and supposed boy love goodness.





	We will Find Our Place

Griffith

Reds and golds twirled about, as if an ocean, its waves swaying, had caught aflame and cascaded the night in an inferno of warmth, comfort, and memories of times before.

For them, the moments spent congregated around these fires were a happy, welcome respite from the dangers of warfare. He thought so too, every now and then. That night, however, it was not so. We will therefore turn our eyes toward him, for he was easily spotted, away from the throng, alone, and sullen. Not the young man most would expect, for such gloom was nary a common sight to behold of he whom this story takes its fixation.

Griffith had not drunk with the others, choosing instead to move a ways from the Hawks' camp. From up on a hill, overlooking the mountainous valley, and the crevice where they had made shelter, the young man held his untouched stein in his lap. His face was too slack to be considered sober, yet too sharp to be called inebriated. He felt mellow, yet wistful, breathing in the cool Autumn air through his nose, the songs of crickets and owls wafting like phantoms from distant trees.

Down below, his comrades, no, soldiers, were rambunctiously living in the moment, their love affair with life an enviable and precious treasure Griffith could not grasp.

Griffith's eyes, beautiful and chilling, reflected the lights, like golden fireflies flickering about. He raised the beer to his delicate lips for a swallow, before whispering to himself, distraught.

"How do they laugh? Is that the only comfort which keeps them alive? Why do they truly fight for me? Do I deserve it? Of course not. They also have desires, hopes, dreams of a better life, a life which I will provide when we win."

Griffith, his visage cast aside, urged on a false smile.

"Yes, we have mutual benefit. It is only a matter of course that we should all get along. Just look at me, asking such frivolous things of myself…" Almost convinced in himself, Griffith faltered, sighing, and his smile gave way to his genuine melancholy, eyes falling from the sky, to again watch over the camp.

"But, were it so simple, why can I not join them? Why do I feel so...alone?" he quietly asked himself.

Griffith, who was without blanket or fire, felt a shiver in his chest, and, tensing, pulled his knees close, and took another mouthful of beer. He let out a breath, and rested his chin forward, peering into the magnificence of the constellations above. Heavy footsteps sent vibrations through the ground beneath him, interrupting his ruminations. Griffith wasn't sure, but could guess who approached him.

"Have you come to collect me?" Griffith asked, his voice slightly deep, and sonorous to one's ears. His eyes remained on the camp below. He did not turn to meet his visitor.

"What're you doing up here? It's freezing." The voice was gruff, a young man's as well. Griffith recognized it immediately, but, once again remained unfazed. Eyes closed, he continued drinking, appearing dismissive of the other's presence.

"I do prefer the winds in Autumn. It's such a perfectly…soothing, strange season, am I right?"

The other man offered no answer, but Griffith could sense the bewilderment on his face. His intruder approached, taking a seat beside him. As Griffith suspected, it was the Raid Captain. Who else would so brazenly meet him and speak so plainly?

Guts normally relied on Griffith to initiate any conversation, unless he had something important to ask. The moment they found themselves in was no exception. Griffith had often wondered what was going on inside the somber and reticent Guts' head, but never pried. Instead, they both sat silently together, gazing upon the night. After a few minutes, which felt like a long, long while, their appreciated silence broke between them.

"Aren't you cold as well? Shall we return together?" Griffith asked, turning his gaze upon Guts for the first time that evening.

His hair, curled in long, silver waves, gently curtained his face in the breeze. Even in the darkness, Guts could see his striking gaze, one akin to an angelic being who descended from the heavens. It was not uncommon for Guts-and perhaps the rest of the Hawks-to be taken by that gaze, which so bewilderingly pierced the heart, as Guts had presently found himself. For an instant, Guts caught himself thinking, if for only just a moment, that the face which stared back at him was perhaps more mesmerizing than...

Guts, feeling self-consciousness prickle in his face, inwardly backed off from such idiotic thoughts, and, clearing his throat, turned away, facing the sky.

"Nah, I'm just fine. Besides, I figured you might've passed out somewhere, so I brought these." He stretched his arm toward his friend, offering a wool blanket. Gaston had fashioned such privileges for the band in his spare time, and the craftsmanship was noteworthy.

Taken aback, Griffith accepted, a small smile creeping to his lips as he swung the blanket open, covering himself with it. With his hands wrapped in the blanket, he lifted his mug again, continuing to drink. Guts, oddly, had also brought his own, though it was taller. How appropriate.

"Oh."

Griffith, having suddenly remembered a tradition, lifted his stein, knocking it against Guts' in a friendly gesture, to which the other smirked. Toasting each others' health and fortune, both sighed, laying on their backs with the breeze all around.

After a time, the Hawk felt his body grow weak, though he was still awake. His lips, sluggish, let a long breath escape, as his chest, his arms and legs, even his head, in their heaviness, relaxed against the tickling grass. His face tingled, and he turned his head, seeking Guts, whose eyes had not left the sky.

Picking a little branch in his slender fingers, Griffith gave him a poke in the shoulder, chuckling in his melodic way.

"Hey you, aren't you going to say something? Do you plan to lay there like a grouch all night long, Guts?"

Guts, whose stony expression had relaxed, turned, meeting the other's gaze. He looked as if he'd been caught misbehaving, for Guts wore a sheepish, half smile, his thick, dark brows creasing over his lightly scarred face.

"Sorry, I was just thinking about something..."

"Yes?"

Guts faltered a moment, gathering his words.

"I don't get it. What are we good for if we can't ride into war for others? The peasants and nobles of the city, they live for things other than bloodshed. It's as if their existences have never once known cruelty, or true pain. I just wonder...if this war ever ends, will there be a place for people like us?" Guts grew silent, having gotten lost in his unsmiling, contemplative thoughts. He seemed troubled, something Griffith noticed as a subtlety.

As if triggered by Guts' words, Griffith wondered the same thing. Someone like Guts truly seemed out of place off of the battlefield, out of his element. It almost made Griffith pity him. A familiar stirring in his heart, felt during such moments, beat in his chest, and he slowly reached out, carefully placing his fingertips, then, when Guts flinched, his whole hand, on the other's shoulder. His hand was like a child's, when it was placed upon such a thing as large as Guts' shoulder. His companion was tense, though Griffith knew not why.

"We will find our place, my friend. Believe in me, and we will find it, together. I promise you."

Speaking softly, the Hawk relented, taking his hand back and rolling onto his side, curled hair sweeping over his face once again. He had grown tired, and, feeling sleep overtake him after his last effort of the evening. Before allowing himself that welcome luxury, Griffith's voice was muffled, having been turned away.

"In a few days, we will ride into battle once again. I very much look forward... to watching you swing your sword. You are, after all, my most prized of all..."

Saying that in a sleep-riddled breath, Griffith drifted away into the depths of his own dream. He always had a way of saying things with such eloquence, no man or even a court lady could match his genuineness.

That angelic face, vulnerable in slumber, was something Guts wanted to protect. Maybe his place was, at least for now, with the Hawks.

He did not sleep that night...

**Author's Note:**

> See you next chapter, sorry this was so short!


End file.
